Siren: A Love Story
by The Raisin Girl
Summary: It's been years since McKinley High. Dave Karofsky is comfortable in his own skin. Kurt Hummel is self-sufficient and living his dreams. Neither has found true love, and neither feels any pressing need to go looking for it. Then they bump into each other.
1. Chapter 1

**Part One**

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><p>…<em>and you know you're gonna lie to you<br>__in your own way._

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><p>It's been seven years since Kurt Hummel left William McKinley High School behind him for New York City and an education in performance art. Six since he said good-bye to Blaine Anderson, a tearful departure at the airport when Blaine left for college in California, instead of the reunion in New York the two of them had been planning since junior year. Four years since he has been romantically involved with anyone, and honestly, he's fine with that. Kurt has grown up. He doesn't need a pair of pretty eyes looking at him like he hung the moon to make him feel special anymore. He doesn't need someone else to make him believe in his own magic; he's learned to do it himself, to stand on his own two feet and know who he is. He has too much in his life, too many blessings and responsibilities, too many wonderful friends, to bemoan a lack of romantic attachment. He is truly living his dreams.<p>

Of course, no dream comes without a price. It's been two years since he's had the time to go home to see his parents, and somehow or other six months have gone by since he's called home at all. He's just been so busy with rehearsals, and work, and constant cycles of auditions...he'll call when he has time, and they'll understand. They know how happy he is, how hard he's worked to build these beginnings of the life he always wanted. They know that sometimes he just gets so busy that he forgets to keep in touch, and he does feel guilty sometimes, but they never try to _make_ him feel that way.

What Kurt doesn't know yet is that when you refuse to slow down you will inevitably forget part of what it means to live, and then fate has a way of sneaking up on you, of making you stop and take notice. Today is Kurt Hummel's 25th birthday, and fate is about to throw him a curveball.

He has no special celebration plans for the day; he's going to save the partying for the weekend. He's usually quite the miser, but he did think he might take an extra-long lunch at a nice restaurant, maybe somewhere he's never tried. Other than that he has lines to learn, costumes to get fitted for, his evening jog and his weekly load of laundry…all the things he does every day of the week, and a little thing like his birthday can't be allowed to upset the routine. He doesn't think it explicitly or say it out loud, but he feels it: this life he's chosen is beautiful, but it's also quick, it's hard, and if he slows down or slacks off it will bury him alive faster than he can blink an eye.

He does allow himself the extra ten minutes it takes for a coffee detour on the way to rehearsals. They're not singing today, so he indulges in a latte for once, and a blueberry scone. He pays and is turning to leave-in and out in six minutes, a new record-when he finds himself frozen on the spot by a glimpse of a dark red shirt and a face that's familiar despite the intervention of time. He thinks, "hey, I remember you."

The hair is different: it seems thicker and darker somehow, like it's been allowed a little room to grow, and it curls slightly over the squared forehead. The eyes are the exact same, and set below the same unmistakable arch of eyebrows any beautician in the world would be defied to recreate. His heavy-jawed, masculine face looks relaxed, more contented than Kurt ever remembers seeing it. He's reading something; _The New Yorker?_ Really? He's not going to look up, not going to notice that Kurt is there, and Kurt battles with himself for a moment, trying to decide whether to go over and say hello or just leave and forget about it, keep the past in the past where it belongs. Just as he makes up his mind to get out, the object of his indecision looks up and notices Kurt frozen halfway between the counter and the door, staring at him.

Dave Karofsky's eyes widen for a moment, but then they warm, and the corners crinkle up as he smiles, and _oh_. Kurt's never seen him smile like that before, and it—this whole weird moment in time-does things to his brain that he just does not understand, because this is _Dave Karofsky_. The last time Kurt saw him he was sitting in a gay bar in Lima, Ohio. Kurt's thought about him from time to time since then, wondered what he was doing and whether he was doing okay…but he never expected to actually see him again, and certainly not in New York City.

_What is Dave doing in New York City, anyway?_

"It's rude to stare, Kurt," he says, his voice pitched low and teasing. It snaps Kurt right out of whatever thoughts he had just been having. "Even in New York. Are you gonna come say hello or not?"

Well, that just about does it. Dave Karofsky is in New York City, in one of Kurt's favorite coffee shops and on Kurt's birthday, no less. He's well dressed, good-looking and positively civilized, and _Kurt's_ the one standing around gaping like a fish. He flounders for just a second, looking for a way to save face and keep the high ground in this encounter, assuming he ever had it, but one quirk of that eyebrow has his feet moving forward instead. He folds himself into the chair across from Dave's and just looks at him, taking him in. He realizes without fully articulating it in his thoughts that he is profoundly relieved to see the man sitting across from him, looking so utterly _well_.

"You look great, Dave. I mean, it's great to see you. Um…how have you been?"

Bless him, Dave doesn't laugh in his face. He doesn't acknowledge at all how tongue-tied Kurt is. He just sets his reading aside, leans forward just the littlest bit, and starts to tell Kurt what he's doing here, what he's been doing for the last seven years, and how his life has been turning out. He went to a community college for a couple of years before he transferred out of the state. He worked his way through, doing an assortment of odd and interesting jobs: bartending, construction work, babysitting, even a few summers spent driving a transfer truck. Kurt listens, and asks questions; the first one he goes for is obvious: Dave came out to his parents just after he graduated from college. His father was very supportive, but his mother needed some time. Occasionally it's still a bit awkward. Yes, he's had a boyfriend or two, but no, he isn't seeing anyone right now. He's in New York on business, actually, only for about a week.

Kurt forgets that he had somewhere to be in four minutes, and doesn't remember it for _hours_. It's like they've stepped into some kind of time suspension where everything else is secondary to Kurt's chance sighting of David Karofsky and his sudden desire to know where he has been, and who that person _is_ now, anyway. They sit in that coffee shop until lunchtime, just talking, catching up as if they're old friends instead of old…many things, but never really friends. Later he doesn't remember how it happened, but the subject changes to him halfway through, and as he tells Dave about his life he watches Dave listen. Really listen. He isn't waiting for his turn to speak or looking for a way to segue off into his own stories. He just listens to Kurt, and asks his own questions, and by the time Kurt's stomach reminds him that he's missed his morning rehearsal and, by the way, needs to eat something sometime soon, the two of them are laughing, and reminiscing, and poking fun at the antics of their respective social circles from William McKinley. Dave asks Kurt to lunch and Kurt, smiling, says yes.

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><p><em>…know too well…<em>

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><p>David Karofsky was no longer a closet-case or a homophobic bully, but he was still, and would always be, someone who had terrified Kurt in high school, made him feel low and gross and unsafe. He was also the first kiss Kurt had ever had from a boy, and damned if he wanted to open up<em> that<em> Pandora's box, but the memory still made him feel a strange combination of queasy and very, very sad.

And yet...there were other memories, too. A glimpse of Dave's face from afar as he danced with the McKinley High glee club and his fellow football players during half time at the championship game. He'd looked so happy then. A shape in the darkness of the auditorium, so faint and dark he almost couldn't make it out behind the brightness of the stage lights, watching him as he performed Born This Way with his friends. He didn't know how he _knew_ that person watching had been Dave; he just did. Who else would it be?

The strange feeling of awkward shyness and total safety he felt walking at David's side down the hallway in the weeks leading up to prom. The bright smile on his face as he accepted his crown and scepter after being named junior Prom King, and the devastation on that face mere minutes later as he walked away and left Kurt standing alone on the dance floor. Kurt didn't hate him for it; someone else had been there to take Kurt's hand and make sure he wasn't alone. It hadn't been fair of him to ask that of David...he knew that now.

Another, final memory stood above all the others, somehow. It was something Kurt had thought of more often than he even realized. Over the years it had become a ward against fear and his increasingly rare moments of self-doubt. Whenever he felt small or insufficient, not good enough...he saw a pair of hazel eyes looking out at him from underneath the bill of a baseball cap, dimly lit in his memory by red and blue lights and set against a backdrop of disco music and small-town drag queens. It always gave him a surge of confidence to think of that night, even though all things considered the very thought of it should have made him want to cry. He and Blaine had had a fight in the car, their first since they started dating and their longest by far, before or since. But whenever Kurt thought of Scandals he thought not of Blaine, but of Dave, and whenever he thought of that conversation with Dave in Scandals, he felt briefly but truly invincible.

It was too bad he couldn't reconcile these two images of Dave Karofsy in his head somehow, make them fit with the man Dave had become.

When Dave realized that their lunch was taking place on Kurt's birthday, he insisted on buying. They went to a place in Little Italy that Kurt had never tried called Caffe Napoli. It was an open-air cafe on the corner of Hester and Mulberry, and their food was exquisite. They chatted and people-watched, and Kurt thought at the time that he had never felt more at ease with another person in his life. He told Dave about college, and auditions. He admitted to how much scarier he'd found New York City when he'd arrived there for the second time, without his friends or a chaperon to act as a buffer between himself and this place that was the epitome of the real world and all his dreams combined into one terrifying spectacle of sensory overload and unfamiliar faces.

"This was…fun, David. Thank you," Kurt said. It was after lunch and they were standing at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. Dave smiled and asked Kurt for his phone. Kurt quirked an eyebrow at him, but handed it over and watched as Dave punched in his number.

"I'll be here until Wednesday," he said, looking into Kurt's face with casual, open friendliness. "Call me if you want to meet for coffee again." Kurt nodded, the light changed, and they went their separate ways. Kurt arrived to his afternoon fitting, called his director to apologize-very luckily, he had worked with this particular lady before, and she liked him and his talent enough that she didn't fire him on the spot-and went home to a lot of undone laundry and a new phone number that felt like it was burning a hole in his pocket.

He debated with himself all evening and well into the next day. He had enjoyed talking to Dave, but did that mean he needed to make it a repeated experience? They shared a lot of history, most of it mutually unpleasant to think about, and he just wasn't sure there was room in his life for the potential can of worms he was thinking of opening. Dave Karofsky had always been a confusing, worrisome force in his life. They knew too much of one another and not enough, and however well they got along for a few hours after a chance meeting, they would likely only cause each other stress. He _knew _this, but...

He called Dave that next evening as soon as he got home.

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><p>…<em>know the chill…<em>

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><p>There is no conceivable way to know when something you were lacking, something you didn't even know you were missing, is going to make itself known to you as a fundamental desire, a vital <em>need<em>. One minute Kurt Hummel was a self-sufficient young actor working his way up the New York City theatre circuit. He had no distractions and no romantic entanglements; he was friend to many but lover to no one. He wasn't lonely, or frigid...it just wasn't something he had worried about in a very long time.

And then, quite suddenly, it was.

They had been meeting one another for lunch and coffee-never dinner-for several months before Kurt realized that he was in trouble. It hit him square in the face one day, just like their initial chance meeting had done.

He couldn't _imagine _a less appropriate form for a sudden romantic interest to take. One second he was sitting across from Dave at The Thirsty Scholar-"The beer they have on tap is awful, but their food is the best,"-just listening to Dave tell him, in animated detail, about a hockey game he'd seen last weekend, and the next it suddenly occurred to him that he was listening, actually _listening_, to a guy describing a hockey game. And he was fascinated. Dave didn't just tell it in terms of stats and scores and technical jargon; he described it in detail, what it looked like. He turned it into a story, and Kurt just got sucked right into the drama of it all. He looked up from where he was sitting with his cheek propped against his hand, at David's eyes, alight with excitement as if he were reliving every second in living color in his mind, and _oh_. There it was again, that jolt he'd gotten that first day, when Dave had smiled, but...this time it was stronger. This time, Kurt wasn't too thrown off balance to understand exactly what it was.

_Oh._

_Oh, oh, oh._

_Oh _God.

Kurt felt the realization crashing around him like some post-apocalyptic scene of nuclear holocaust. Here he had been thinking it was all so harmless and innocent. Dave had never made any demands on his time, never asked him for anything he couldn't freely give; he gave Kurt his number, waited for Kurt to call him, let Kurt know when he would be in town but never acted as if he had any expectations about spending time together. He had never hinted that there was anything on his mind other than friendship, and so Kurt had let his worries relax and fade.

It never occurred to him to keep an eye on his own feelings, and now here they were, staring him in the face. He was falling-may already have fallen-for _Dave Karofsky._

He stood up abruptly.

"Kurt?" Dave looked up at him, concern in his clear hazel eyes. Kurt tried to imagine what his face must look like right now, and came up blank. He didn't know what was going on in his own head, he just knew he needed to get away from this thing that was welling up inside, this feeling that he absolutely could not allow to take hold.

"I have to go," he said, his voice cracking. "I'll call you later."

He left his half of the check on the table and ran out, and Dave didn't try to stop him or follow him. He rode the subway home in a haze of silent disbelief at his own stupidity. Luckily, he had a rare afternoon off, because he just didn't think acting was in the cards for him today. Usually he would have used this time to go over lines or clean his apartment, but when he got home the only thing he did was head straight for the shower, tossing his phone in the direction of the counter on the way and wincing when he heard it start to ring as he was stepping under the hot spray. He closed his eyes, blocked out the ring tone as best he could, and tried not to picture Dave's face collapsed in lines of hurt and bewilderment. He would try to explain this away later, after he got himself under control. He would fix this anomaly in his brain and then go back to enjoying his friendship with Dave with a clear conscience. He would_ not_, under any circumstances, allow himself to act on what he was feeling.

When he got out of the shower he had a missed call and a voicemail. He didn't look at the missed call, just opened up his inbox and listened, heart in his mouth, to the sound of Dave's voice, full of concern.

"Kurt? Please call me. You ran out of here like...I don't know what. I just want to make sure you're all right. Let me know okay?"

Kurt listened to the message twice, and then made himself delete it.

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><p>…<em>know she breaks…<em>

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><p>"Kurt, I haven't heard from you yet. I'm more than a little worried now. Please just call me and let me know you're okay."<p>

"It's been a week, K. Maybe it's none of my business but I'm really starting to freak out over here. Call me."

"I haven't heard from you in a month. I can't help thinking I must have done something wrong. At least let me apologize for it? I miss...talking to you."

"Okay, I get it. You don't want to talk to me. Can you just text me? Let me know you're all right and I'll leave you alone."

_Dave: I'm fine. I'll call you when I can, just really busy. -Kurt H._

_Kurt: You don't have to lie to me, K. I understand. Do what you have to do. I enjoyed being your friend. -D. Karofsky_

Kurt stared down at the phone in his hand. His finger hovered over the "delete" button for a moment, hesitating. This might very well be the last contact he ever had with David Karofsky, and he had been forcing himself to delete the voicemail messages Dave had been sending for the past couple of months. Every one of them had cut through his heart like a knife. He could hear the concern in Dave's voice fade to painful understanding and then, worst of all on the last one, resignation. He'd listened to each one twice, then deleted them. After a second's hesitation, he did the same to this one. He pressed "delete," watched Dave's words disappear from the screen, and told himself that it didn't matter, either because he could talk to Dave anytime or because Dave didn't mean that much to him.

Truth be told, Kurt was a mess. Oh, on the outside everything was fine. He still stuck to his routine. He still went to all his rehearsals, kept up with his fitness, cleaned his apartment and did his laundry. He still arrived on time and delivered performances that created press buzz and got him noticed for bigger and better parts each time around...

...but at some point the shine had faded. He'd let it go and he didn't know how to get it back, and he absolutely refused to acknowledge that the joy had gone out of his frenetic life the moment he'd cut Dave Karofsky out, because as he kept reminding himself on an almost hourly basis, Dave Karofsky _did not matter._ Couldn't matter, not like that.

_Why not? _He asked himself stubbornly, on his more honest nights of laying awake and staring at his ceiling, thinking of Dave. He seemed to do this a lot lately. _Why can't he matter to me? He's not the same person, I know he's not. Why can't I just call him, apologize for being an asshole, and beg him to let me take him to dinner to make up for it?_

But Kurt knew why. Some scars run too deep for healing. Did he really want to start a relationship with someone who was such a huge, looming black mark on his past? Even if that person had changed? Even if that person made his heart beat faster just by walking into the room, and somehow managed to make hockey games actually interesting? Kurt knew the answer; it was a no-brainer. That kind of relationship was doomed from the start, inherently dysfunctional and sure to end in tears for both of them. Kurt didn't want tears; he only liked tears when they fell as part of a moving performance, and he especially didn't want tears for Dave.

So he stopped getting coffee at that particular coffee shop, stopped going to any of the places he and Dave had gone, and just...went on with his life. The lovely thing about a city like New York is that it's so big and so complex, you can cut whole blocks out of your daily routine without batting an eye, and just go someplace else. That's also its most dangerous feature: when you can leave anything behind at any moment, it's far too easy for the important things to get lost in the shuffle. Especially if, for some strange screwed-up reason that only makes sense in your own head, you want them to.

Sometimes, too, though, the city has a mind of her own, and a funny way of wrecking even the best-laid plans.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: Here's another one for Professional Widow. What in the world did you <em>do<em> to me? I listened to Siren, which is not a Tori song I'm super-familiar with, but I listened to it, and I kept listening, and then I couldn't stop thinking about some of the lines and what they might mean to Kurt and Dave. I have no idea if this is even remotely what you had in mind, but this is what came out of my head when I gave in and decided to write it down. This is only the first part, mind you. An interlude and the second part are pending. I had to make myself stop because I haven't actually done anything else but write this fic today. Thank you for the inspiration, thank you so much.**

**Love,  
>The Raisin Girl <strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Forenote:** After reading a very nice and very unexpected comment from midlifecrisses on this long-neglected story, I decided it needed its part two at long last.

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><p><em>Almost brave...almost in love...<em>

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><p>It almost seems cliche that it happens on his birthday.<p>

It's even more cliche that his birthday is in spring, a time of new beginnings, when the city is finally thawed out and perking up, coming back to life and motion and noise and color after the long, featureless white and slate gray of a New York winter.

Life isn't symmetrical, it's not neat and clean that way. It doesn't come with happy endings, and it always leaves loose ends, unanswered questions, unsatisfied customers. Kurt knows that all too well. It's part of the reason his passion for musical theatre has survived the transition into adulthood when so few of his other interests have managed to do the same. Musicals give people something Kurt believes they all need: hope, excitement, predictability, closure. Even sad musicals give the audience closure.

He wasn't expecting to get any closure for this. He has only himself to blame, and while that hurts, it's also injected him with a kind of grim determination. It's made it easier to, if not get over his feelings, move on from allowing them to take front and center in his mind. It has been months since he'd allowed Dave Karofsky to be more than a stray thought here and there. Four months, eighteen days, to be exact.

Not that he's counting.

That's the thing about New York, though...it may help you hide for a little while, but there's no such thing as a guarantee. It could blow your cover at any moment. You might turn a corner, and the very problem you've been hiding from will be strolling down the sidewalk toward you in a navy blue pea coat, phone to his ear and a slight smile on his face at whatever the person on the other end is saying.

Kurt freezes. He considers, stupidly, ducking into the vintage t-shirt shop he just passed, or simply turning on his heels and dashing back around the corner. But he waits a second too long, and Dave looks up from the sidewalk in front of him. His eyes find Kurt's face like a homing beacon, locking on. His steps slow. The smile fades into something closed and unreadable. Kurt's close enough to hear him speak to the person on the phone.

"I'm gonna have to call you back."

Kurt's chest tightens, and his stomach turns to lead. Dave pockets his phone and then drops his hands to his sides, just standing there, looking at Kurt with nothing on his face to tell Kurt what to expect. He doesn't know what to say, even though he's fantasized a million times-four months and eighteen days ago, of course-about what he would say in this exact situation. The eloquent, heartfelt apology he would give if he ever ran into Dave Karofsky again.

He just never expected it to actually happen, and now that it has he's tongue-tied.

"Hi, Kurt," Dave says tersely. He doesn't sound angry exactly...just guarded. Kurt swallows, find his voice at last.

"Dave," he says, and his voice is steadier than he thought it would be, though far too quiet to adequately travel the distance between them. "How...how have you been?"

Dave regards him for a long moment. Then, inexplicably, his eyes soften. A small smile tugs at his lips.

"Better now," he says softly. "How about you? Are you still crazy busy?"

Kurt feels his face grow hot. He grimaces a little. "It's my day off, actually. I was headed to the Chelsea Market."

"Grocery shopping on your birthday? For shame," Dave says teasingly. Then he shuts his mouth, looks down, shakes his head. He looks embarrassed, like he's just given something away by mistake. It takes Kurt, in his befuddled state, a second too long to catch it. But when he does he can't help but smile, oddly delighted.

"You remembered my birthday?" He takes a step forward. This is awkward, and strange. It's nothing like it was last year. Kurt doesn't know what to say anymore, and he doesn't know how to read Dave at all. He feels the apologies welling up inside him and bites them back. Now is not the time to beg for forgiveness. He doesn't deserve it, and anyway...they're blocking foot traffic.

"Yeah, I...set a reminder on my phone last year, when we were hanging out all the time. It woke me up this morning." Dave admits sheepishly. Kurt's grin widens. Come to think of it, the thought of Dave remembering his birthday after months of no contact would be a little bit creepy. This is much better.

"So...what're you up to today?" Kurt asks tentatively. Maybe they can go for lunch. Or grab coffee. Maybe they can talk, and Kurt can apologize. Maybe they can pick up where they left off before, and he can just ignore the pounding beneath his ribs, a beat faster per second for every inch closer Dave is to him in a given moment.

"I just got out of a meeting with my editor," Dave says. "Was gonna grab some lunch before I headed back to my hotel." He pauses. "Why?" His guard is back up. Not all the way up, maybe...but it's there. It's Kurt's turn to look sheepish.

"If I remember correctly, there's a really good Italian place somewhere near here."

Dave's jaw works for a second. Kurt can't tell if he's biting back anger or a smile. He should be angry. Kurt would be angry if their positions were reversed. But after a moment, Dave just sighs, a breath that's half a helpless laugh.

"Sure," he says. "Why not?"

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><p>It's as though the cosmos hit a reset button. Somewhere between Spring Street and Grand Street, the awkward tension between them melts away into comfortable silence, then casual conversation. By the time they reach the busy intersection of Hester and Mulberry, Kurt is laughing out loud at Dave's impression of his editor. Those intervening months of silence have melted away in the afternoon sunshine of a late spring day. They allow the guy hawking for customers outside the restaurant to usher them over to a table for two. While they wait for their waiter, Kurt fills Dave in on his busy show schedule, making him chuckle at his descriptions of the backstage drama, the antics and rivalries and camaraderie of people who spend all their time dancing, singing, sweating, and undressing together.<p>

"Reminds me of the football and hockey teams in high school, except for the dancing and singing," Dave chuckles. Then he pauses. "Well...except for that one time."

Kurt grins. "I remember that! You guys were so great."

The waiter appears and takes their orders. When he's gone again, Dave folds his hands on the table, fixing Kurt with a serious stare.

"So," he says. "What else do you have planned for your birthday?"

"Well, I was thinking I would be boring and catch up on my laundry and the neglected stack of Vogue issues on my coffee table."

Dave wrinkles his nose. "Vogue and laundry? That sounds like a terrible birthday."

"Hey...I like my Vogue!" Kurt protests. Dave rolls his eyes good-naturedly.

"I don't have a problem with the magazine," he clarifies. "But...laundry? On your birthday? Come on. That sounds like torture."

Kurt chuckles a little at that.

"Well...it's not a party, but it's better than showing up to work naked."

Dave shrugs. "Depends...are you auditioning for _Hair_?"

Kurt's eyes go wide. "David Allen Karofsky!" He says, sounding mock-scandalized. Then... "Wait. You've seen _Hair_?"

Dave looks away evasively, a small grin on his lips. "Maybe? One of my college buddies was in it. He made all of us promise to go. I actually liked it, though. It was...powerful."

Kurt just blinks at him for a second.

"What?" Dave asks. Kurt can only shake his head.

"You have actually seen a musical I haven't." He admits, and it's Dave's turn to go wide-eyed.

"Oh, no." He says. "That is not allowed to stand. Hang on."

Dave pulls out his phone and starts tapping. The waiter brings their food, but he only thanks the man absently, keeping his attention on his phone. Kurt takes a bite of his ravioli, watching Dave curiously. He has an inkling of what he's up to...but he doesn't want to make any assumptions.

Finally, Dave puts his phone aside, a triumphant look on his face, and picks up his fork. He spears a farfalle and contemplates Kurt as he chews. For his part, Kurt doesn't ask, partly because he knows Dave wants him to. He just keeps nonchalantly enjoying his ravioli, gazing at the busy sidewalks and playing Tourist, Student, Transplant, Native in his head.

"Oh come on, K," Dave says plaintively after a few minutes. "You know you wanna ask."

Kurt smiles sweetly. "Ask what?"

"Fine," Dave grumbles, but there's no real heat behind it. "I'll do the asking. Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to the St. James tonight for their final performance of _Hair_?"

"Are you serious?" Kurt asks. "It's their last show tonight? That's ridiculously good timing."

A slow smile lights Dave's face. There's something else there, too...a kind of delighted incredulity that Kurt doesn't quite understand. "So you'll come with me?"

"David," Kurt says, leaning forward. "Would I ever pass up the chance to see a musical?"

* * *

><p>It's late night when they leave the theatre, and show-dazzled eyes adjust slowly to dark streets bathed in pools of light from marquees and storefronts. Kurt is giddy, what his dad would call "high on life." He always feels this way after seeing a show: transported, excited, full of nervous energy. It's only appropriate, he supposes, given the content of the musical.<p>

"You were right," he says a little breathlessly. "Powerful is the word. Definitely."

"It's one of my favorites," Dave replies softly. "Maybe my favorite. Although Annie would be a close second."

"_Hair_ and _Annie_? That's an unexpected combination," Kurt remarks. They're walking down Eighth Avenue, heading downtown. Kurt doesn't know where they're going. The night could be over right here...Dave's hotel is probably somewhere near Times Square, so they should probably say goodnight and go their separate ways soon. Except that he doesn't want to. He doesn't ever want this night to end. And as he looks up at Dave, something clicks.

All those months of silence suddenly seem so stupid and pointless.

Dave is looking ahead, but he cuts his eyes and smiles to find Kurt looking at him.

"You ready to go do laundry, or do you have a little more time?" He asks teasingly.

"Laundry has been postponed until tomorrow," Kurt says emphatically. "You've taught me the error of my responsible ways. What did you have in mind?"

Dave stops and turns. He holds out his hand.

"Do you trust me?" He asks. Kurt doesn't even hesitate. He takes Dave's hand.

"Of course I do."

* * *

><p>If it was late when they left the theatre, it's more like early when they stumble up the stairs of Down The Hatch and into the relative quiet of lower Manhattan sidewalks in the witching hour. Kurt's ears are ringing a little, and he's pleasantly buzzed. He's also fairly sure he just spent three hours in a frat bar, playing for shots at an air hockey table. He thanks the gods of undergrad for his high tolerance; there was a time Dave would have had to carry him bridal-style after that much alcohol.<p>

"I had no idea you were so good at air hockey," Dave says, voice a little slurred. "Pretty sure those guys from NYU thought we were hustling 'em."

"Well," Kurt says mischievously, "we weren't, but I was." Dave barks a laugh. They head down West 4th Street and make a left on Sixth, toward the subway entrance. Kurt can get to his Brooklyn apartment from there, and he's pretty sure Dave can get back to Times Square as well. They head down the stairs and swipe their cards at the turnstiles, Kurt going first. He pauses on the other side to wait for Dave. This is where they should part ways. This is the moment he should choose to continue with this second chance at friendship, in spite of whatever else he might feel.

He looks into Dave's face, relaxed and happy, hazel eyes alight, mouth settled in an easy, unconscious smile. He chooses.

"Wanna head back to my place?"

Dave blinks. The look of incredulity is back, as if he isn't sure of what he just heard. But he recovers quickly.

"The laundry is calling," he nods sagely. Kurt smacks his arm playfully.

"Watch it," he threatens, "or I'll put you on towel-folding duty."

Dave laughs, and they step onto the next A train. There aren't many riders at this time of morning, so Dave and Kurt have a whole car to themselves. Dave takes this opportunity to do a horribly out-of-tune rendition of "Happy Birthday," first in English and then in Spanish, which has Kurt laughing so hard he's practically laying across the seats. He begs Dave to stop when he starts up singing in French, pulling himself into a somewhat more dignified sitting position only to end up practically in Dave's lap when the train gives an unexpected jolt. Dave laughs and rights him. Kurt's stomach flips at the brief feeling of a large, warm palm on his back, gentle and steadying.

Something must show in his face, because Dave's laughter fades into an unasked question. Kurt keeps his eyes straight ahead, but leans into the touch. His breath catches when Dave's hand moves down, settling lightly in the small of his back. It's a gesture he associates with comfort, safety, and a light possessiveness. Not jealousy or ownership, exactly, just...the feeling of someone's hand finding a home there because they know it can, the casual contact that tells anyone who might see them that they're not just in each other's company, but together.

He relaxes into the touch a little more, falling silent as the train rumbles around and above and beneath them. There's some unknowable sensation building in him, trepidation and urgency all tangled up with the way that hand on his back is making him feel like something foreign and strong is coursing through him...not electricity, but warm, dark river water. He goes from deciding not to look over at Dave to finding he can't force himself to do so, and that sense in him keeps building.

* * *

><p><em>Reach high...<em>

* * *

><p>By the time the train reaches their stop, he thinks something in him must be almost at its breaking point.<p>

He allows himself to lean into Dave a little as they exit the train and ascend into the chilly, damp pre-dawn air. His apartment isn't far, but it seems like the distance stretches into miles on the way there. He risks a glance at Dave as he unlocks the door, and sees something of what he feels in the other man's expression.

"Home sweet home," he quips weakly, letting them inside. The air is blessedly dry and cool, thanks to the dehumidifier his dad sent him for his birthday. It's only three rooms: the main area, the bathroom, and his bedroom. But it gets good light during the day, and it is home besides. It's the first and only place he's ever lived that was completely his own, and he's both proud of it and comfortable in it. Home is for rest; he never entertains here. He does his work and his partying elsewhere, and comes here to just be Kurt. Inviting Dave to this place is intimate, and completely unprecedented. He wonders what Dave would think of that if he told him.

"It's nice," Dave says softly, but he hasn't even looked at the apartment. His eyes are fixed on Kurt, and Kurt finally feels compelled-and able-to meet them.

Dave's eyes are darker in this light, and there's a look in them that makes Kurt want to close the short distance between them. But there's something in the way that needs to be dealt with first.

"Dave," he breathes. "I'm so sorry I stopped taking your calls."

Dave nods. "Yeah, me too," he says without rancor. "I missed you, K."

"I missed you, too. I was just...I had some things I had to work out."

"It's okay. You don't have to explain it to me right now. Though I hope maybe you'll tell me about it someday, when you're ready."

"You're not mad?" Kurt can't quite believe Dave isn't mad. Despite the day they've had together, despite the utter lack of tension-well, the bad kind of tension-and all the laughter and effortless conversation. How can he not be mad?

"I was mad for a while," Dave admits. "Once I stopped being worried. Then I was sad. Now I'm just scared."

"Scared?" Kurt asks, confused. "What are you scared of?"

"You," Dave says simply. Kurt doesn't know what to say to that. Dave Karofsky is afraid of him. It makes no sense in any context, but especially not the one they're in now. Unless...

"Are you worried that this is a one night stand?"

Dave blinks, looking startled. "What? No! I mean...I didn't expect anything. Not...I mean anything. We both had a lot to drink and I thought we could hang out some more, but I didn't plan on letting it get that far. Not that you were planning on taking it that far in the first place, I just mean-"

Kurt can't help it. Dave's flustered, perhaps for the first time since they parted ways in high school, and he's actually blushing, and Kurt finds he can close that distance after all. He presses his lips to Dave's gently, cutting off the flow of words mid-stream. Dave freezes for half a second before he catches up and falls into it with everything he has. It starts out chaste and then falls off the deep end fast, six months of silent frustration and painful absence on both sides, and something else clicks for Kurt. Oh.

Abruptly, Dave pulls back, breathless and looking a little shell-shocked. Kurt feels a little out of breath himself.

"You gonna disappear on me again, Kurt?"

Kurt shakes his head wordlessly, and he means it to his core. They'll talk it all out eventually, and he'll handle the unnecessary but requisite drama that will ensue when people from back home get wind of them. He'll most likely have to explain it very slowly and carefully to Blaine and Finn. The thought is unappealing, but it'll be worth it. He is never kicking Dave Karofsky out of his life again, unless Dave decides to go on his own.

"Never," he says finally. _Never._

* * *

><p><em>And you don't need the light on to guide you through...<em>

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong> When I say "the witching hour," I mean 3 a.m. instead of midnight. It really depends on who you ask, but I think 3 a.m. is infinitely more mysterious and magical.

All of the places I mention in Manhattan are actual places. Down the Hatch is a delightful mix of frat boys, eccentric old men, and locals. It's loud. It's fun. It's crowded. They play a lot of 90s alternative and serve cheap beer and good hangover food. What's not to love?

Now, a confession: this is most likely not what I had in mind for part two when I wrote part one, literally years ago. I don't actually remember what I originally planned. But that's okay, because while this may not have the same tone in terms of passage of time and Kurt's emotions and thought process, I'd like to think it has something nice all its own in the interactions between Kurt and Dave, and Kurt's slow, largely inarticulate realization that it might be worth the trouble and the risk.

Hope you all thought so too!

For the record, Kurt's guess was entirely wrong. Dave wasn't staying anywhere near Times Square. Or in a hotel at all, for that matter. He keeps an apartment in the city. I haven't decided exactly what his job is, but suffice it to say it involves an editor and pays pretty damn well, if he can afford a Manhattan apartment that he doesn't live in full time.

For anyone who might be wondering/worrying, no. Kurt and Dave are not going to sleep together that night. They've both had too much to drink, and Dave isn't the type to fall in bed on the first date (they will refer to this as their first date from now on) anyway. Not that there's anything wrong with that...Kurt's been known to do it from time to time. But Dave just isn't comfortable with it personally. Clearly I have more headthoughts for this fic, but this is the last chapter. Just thought I'd share a few tidbits before I say goodbye to it!

If anyone cares, I was listening to "Come With Me Now" by KONGOS on repeat while I wrote Dave and Kurt's night on the town.


End file.
